I was never the type to chase.

People came to me. They always did. Drawn in by the name, the face, the power. It made them easy to forget. Easy to break.

Until her.

I noticed her the moment she stepped into my world — a quiet storm, a fracture in the perfect surface of my life. She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t cling, didn’t flirt, didn’t try to impress me. She didn’t even look at me.

And it drove me insane.

For weeks, I watched. Every movement, every flicker of emotion she tried to hide. She thought she was safe in the shadows, but shadows belong to me.

I saw how her hands trembled when she thought no one noticed. How she flinched when people got too close. A beautiful, delicate thing pretending to be untouchable.

I knew she’d be mine. Not because she wanted it. Because I did.

When I finally cornered her, it wasn’t planned. But control was an illusion anyway. I pressed her against the wall, cold concrete biting into her back, my hand curling around her throat with just enough pressure to remind her she was fragile. Breakable.

And she looked up at me — eyes dark, lips parted, fear and defiance warring in her gaze.

“I’m not scared of you,” she whispered.

Lie.

I could feel her pulse racing beneath my palm, the hitch in her breath. And it made something sharp twist inside me. Something possessive. Something dangerous.

I leaned in, my voice a low rasp against her ear.

“You should be.”

I watched the fight drain from her, leaving something else in its place. Surrender. Need.

She’d hate herself for it later. They always did. But by then, it wouldn’t matter.

Because I don’t let go. I ruin.

And as her lashes fluttered shut, I whispered the words that would bind her to me in a way no chain ever could.

“You belong to me now. And there’s no fucking way I’ll ever let you leave.”